The Violet Letters
by Tabithatibi
Summary: Taking inspiration from The Beatrice Letters, this is a compilation of letters between Violet and Quigley. Questions will be asked and answered, journeys undertaken and coded messages written, but not necessarily deciphered ...
1. VB to QQ 1

_Hello! IT'S THE SUMMER HOLIDAYSSSSSS! OK, I know I shouldn't be writing this what with all the other fics I've got going, but I'm quite quick with these chapters, I've found. So here goes._

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Dear Sir,

I am afraid I do not know if this will reach you. From what my research has told me, you are currently situated a very long way from here, somewhere out at sea, perhaps on an island that it is said everything eventually arrives at, or perhaps living in an underwater cave, although I personally wouldn't advise this.

My name is Violet Baudelaire. I believe that you are a young gentleman by the name of Quigley Quagmire, and that you are one of three siblings (triplets, in fact). If so, please write back to me; I have missed you dreadfully these past years, and I long to speak to you again. If not, please excuse the forwardness of this letter and if you would be so kind as to write back and explain the situation, I would be much obliged.

Assuming that you are indeed, Quigley, then please read on. My heart aches with the pain of not seeing you for so long, and I dream that one day we may be reunited.

How long is it since I have heard your laugh? I am sure it must be three years at least, though R swears you were at the last meeting of all the VFD members, two years ago. I cannot remember you being there; were you there, but did not speak to me? If so, why not? Or did R just mistake your brother Duncan for you?

Oh, Quigley, how I miss you. It breaks my heart to think that I may never see you again, which is why I must ask you – please, please write back and tell me where you have been and what you have been doing. It is not just I who misses you; Duncan and Isadora are quite lost without you, and Klaus and Sunny are in despair – they do not believe they will ever see you again. Please, Quigley, won't you come home? Why did you ever leave? No one here knows where you went, or why, or how long it took you to get there. And while I do now believe that I have tracked you down, you are still so very far away from me, as I sit here in The Anxious Clown restaurant, watching the rain lash against the icy surface of Lake Lachrymose. You remember me telling you about Lake Lachrymose, don't you? I believe you have a photo of me sitting there with my siblings.

I await your reply with baited breath.

Ever faithfully,

Violet Baudelaire

The World Is Quiet Here

_Violet lifted her pen from the page and wiped a tear from her cheek as she stared at the many lines of writing. Somehow, it seemed so inadequate, so empty of everything she wanted to say. She had so many questions she wanted to ask Quigley that she could not possibly write in her letter for fear of interception or just for fear of running out of paper._

_Violet heard the squeak of plastic trainers against the gleaming floor and looked up to see the same waiter that had served her last time she was forced to eat here. He wore the same name tag, faded now, but still bearing the inscription 'Larry'. He wore the same grin on his face and had a remarkably similar notebook in his hand to the one he had had last time; either he had bought a new one, or business had been very slow._

_But there was one thing that had changed. Larry's eyes were wider and darker, and seemed terribly grim and sad. Violet found herself staring at him, shocked by how much he seemed to have changed._

_'May I help you?' _

_Violet looked at him blankly for a second more before suddenly starting, and replying quickly, 'Just a lemonade, please. I don't feel very hungry.'_

_'I didn't realise this was a sad occasion.'_

_Violet froze. There it was again, that phrase she now knew by heart. Slowly, Violet looked back up at Larry, and, hardly thinking what she was doing, she said, 'The world is quiet here.'_

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_There we are. I quite enjoyed that...:)_

_PLEASE REVIEW!_

_Tabs :D_


	2. QQ to VB 2

_I've realised I missed out the first little letter at the very beginning of the book - what I think I'll do is put it in at the very end of this story, right before the other little one. But as it is, strictly speaking, the first note, this chapter is entitled QQ to VB 2. Hope you enjoy it! :)_

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To My Dearest Violet,

I do believe you are above me now, working with your wires, switches and pulleys while I sketch out yet another plan of Olaf's house. How long is it since we last spoke? One hour, maybe two, but it seems like a lifetime.

I know I should be working, but really, my supervisor is the most boring and annoying man. I can hardly concentrate while he struts about in front of us. I am the only one who works with maps here, just as you are the only inventor, so I have no one to discuss codes with, and no one to borrow colouring pencils from.

There is an expedition to the mountains sometime in the spring. Will you come? Please do. It would

bring back such memories for both of us, would it not? Isadora is coming too, so I expect you would like to be her climbing partner. In the meantime, I have a whole stack of maps to get through.

Isadora, Duncan and I were wondering if you and your siblings would care to join us in town this weekend? We were going to go to the park and get ice-creams, and maybe we could see if there are any good films on at the cinema? Could you ask Klaus and Sunny for us?

The boy with dark eyes is watching me again. I did mention him to you once before, didn't I? I can't help it; he really creeps me out... Let's hope he doesn't turn into another Olaf!

Yours truly,

Quigley Quagmire

The World Is Quiet Here

P.S. Incidentally, the world is NOT quiet here – it's far too noisy. The boy with the dark eyes is scratching his pen against his paper in the most annoying way.

_Quigley tugged the paper from his typewriter, reading over it once before signing his name at the bottom. He folded it neatly up and tucked it inside his satchel; he was sure he could ask Isadora to deliver it to Violet later._

_Somehow, whenever he thought about Violet, his troubles seemed to momentarily vanish from the world like snow melts from the heat of the sun's rays. It was quite incredible, really, just how happy she could make him. With renewed vigour, Quigley returned to sketching Count Olaf's kitchen._

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_There we are! Did you like it? Did you? :P_

_Please R&R!  
_

_Tabs :D_


	3. VB to QQ 2

_This is chapter three, then. Please review! :)_

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Dear Sir,

I have received information that you are indeed Quigley Quagmire, the man I have been looking for for all these years. I was also informed of your new whereabouts, so I posted my last letter to your office in 667 Dark Avenue, which is where I am sitting even now, typing this message out to you on your rusty old typewriter (the very same typewriter, I believe, that you once used to write letters to me while you sat in that boring classroom with the irritating instructor). Your office is quite bare, but it has an interesting view from the window; the very same view, in fact, that I once looked out upon every day when I was in the custody of Jerome and EsméSqualor. If I crouch down under your desk, I can open a secret compartment I believe you have made yourself. It opens up to reveal a very dusty interior, that contains two broken pencils, a library card, a map of the city (incidentally, this is very useful- you have marked out all your favourite haunts in red ink, and have draw a red arrow stretching away towards the hills), and a small framed photo. The photo is of me. Why do you not write to me if you still care so much about me? Did you not receive my last letter? I confess I cannot find it here, even though you have a whole stack of letters piled upon your desk.

Please, Quigley, I must speak with you. I have for such a long time yearned to see your face, see your smile as you talk to those you love. Why did you vanish? After I have completed this letter, I will walk from your small, bare office, down to the street bellow, and walk away from the city in the fond hope that I may yet find you.

I will leave this letter here, addressed to you, in case I do not find you.

Yours faithfully,

Violet Baudelaire

The World Is Quiet Here

P.S. I adore your rocking chair! It reminds me awfully of one we used to have at home.

_Violet pulled the sheaf of paper out of the typewriter, folded it up, and scribbled Quigley's name across it. With a sigh, she left it on the desk, and made her way towards the door, pausing once to look back. _

_Out on the street, Violet glanced around and began to walk down the pavement, her boots sending up tiny spatterings of water as she walked along the rain-slicked street. _

_'Oh, Quigley,' she murmured to herself, 'where are you now?'_

_So lost was she in her thoughts that she walked straight into a tallish man with a long coat, wearing a hat that shielded his face from view._

_'Oh, I'm so sorry!' she exclaimed, spinning round to call after him as he continued on his way, hardly breaking his stride. Again Violet sighed, and turned to walk on. If only she had continued to look back for just a second more, she would have seen him enter the exact same building that she had just left. Fate is indeed most terribly cruel._

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_There we go. And that's the last chapter I'll be posting for three weeks. :'(_

_Tabs :D_


	4. QQ to VB 3

_Hello, hello, hello! Here is my next (very late) installment of this story. Me hopes you like!  
_

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Dearest Violet,

At last, at last, at last! I have been slaving away for hours, stooped over the maps that lie in a definite state of disarray all around me; now, at long last, my new supervisor has left me alone for a few moments, so I am taking this opportunity to write to you. This is hardly, I am afraid to say, the dream job. I know you have to start off small and work your way up, but … this really is awful. My supervisor knows _nothing_, I really believe I could take over his job. All I have to do, all day, every day, is check for minuscule errors on maps, such as 'there should be a telephone box here instead of a pub'. Ah well, it may be dull, but it is vital. Who knows what tragic accidents could happen if one of our volunteers turned up looking for a pub and found instead a telephone box?

Violet. I am so proud of you. You may not know it, but your fame is spreading, even outside the members of our noble organisation – and not only as an inventor, but as an actress, too. Your performances have been praised far and wide, everyone is saying you are the true star of the show. Your mother was an actress, was she not? You have certainly inherited her talent. And, of course, I have heard of how well your inventions have been selling, and of how useful they have been to us.

Forgive me, Violet. I know we should really be simply thinking of our organisation in these dark times, but my thoughts seem to constantly linger on you. When can we next meet? Outside your least favourite restaurant, perhaps, at dusk on Saturday night? We must, however, be careful. We must check that the boats moored close by do not contain any suspicious characters, and we must make sure we don't look through the window of the tiny shoe-shop on the corner, for fear the shop-keeper will catch our eyes and try to sell us uncomfortable and ugly shoes.

Next week, on Wednesday, make sure you are working on your inventions on level five of the tallest building in the science department, in room 21B, and stay there until quarter past seven in the evening. At precisely quarter past, a volunteer will stop outside the window next to the potted plants. He or she will be riding a bicycle. Please lower down the package that I gave you last time we met, and make sure they receive it. Then, you have exactly ten minutes to vacate the building, before our enemies become suspicious.

Oh, Violet, take care. My thoughts will be with you every minute, I promise.

I miss you. See you soon.

Yours Truly,

Quigley Quagmire

The World Is Quiet Here

_Quigley dragged his letter out of the typewriter, scribbling his name at the bottom and folding it neatly up, before pushing it into his pocket. He would deliver it later; right now he needed to complete this map. With a sigh, Quigley leant over his desk again. _

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_You like? You dislike? Please tell me all in a review ... :)_

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_PS Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter - they were very welcome! _


	5. VB to QQ 3

_Hello again! :D Here's the next installment, I hope you enjoy it. :)_

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Dear Sir,

I have, after several weeks spent trekking through the hills, found your whereabouts. The only problem is you are no longer here. You _were_ here; I have no doubt of it, because I spoke to some shepherds who live in the area, and they assured me that you (or at least someone bearing not only your initials, but a striking resemblance to your siblings, Duncan and Isadora) have been living in a cave overlooking the sea for some time now, and that you left just a couple of days ago. They say that this man "spent a great deal of time wandering through the hills, making sketches", and that he had a "forlorn expression" on his face, though apparently they did not see you weep. I have no doubt that the man they saw was you.

They gave me directions, and I followed a narrow path to your cave. The journey was indeed perilous – so much so that I decided to use the broken ends of a whisk which my sister leant me long ago to wedge into the rock wall by my side and attached a piece of rope to its handle, wrapping the other end around my waist, as a makeshift climbing anchor, if you have heard of them. It made the trip slow, as I had to tug and twist it out of the rock by hooking it out with a shepherds' crook (which I had been leant by the shepherds) every few meters and reattach it further along. It was not the safest invention, nor my best, though in the circumstances, I was not disappointed with my efforts. I confess it reminded me of the fork-assisted-climbing-shoes I made so long ago, so that we might climb up Mount Fraught. Do you remember that afternoon, Quigley?

When I reached it, I found your cave to be small and damp, with paint peeling from the rough stone walls. You did not leave much behind you, other than a soggy clump of papers which might once have been a collection of hand-drawn maps.

This journey has been tough, at the very least. The path marked out on your map in red ink led me on a strange journey, and I have learned little, other than that you are often to be found partaking of a root beer float at a small shop in the city, which apparently serves excellent pancakes.

Is it the same shop you and I used to sit together in every Friday afternoon? I cannot recall that they sold pancakes, only ice-cream, but many things have changed over the years. If so, I will make my way there immediately, though this will be difficult as I have forgotten the street, and even the district it resides in, as I have not been there in many years.

I need to see you again Quigley, before my siblings and yours lose all hope of ever seeing you again. I will never give up on you, though with every day my heart grows a little heavier, and I can barely go on for all the misery I have encountered on my travels.

Please Quigley; please contact me at the earliest possible time. I will be waiting eagerly for your reply.

Violet Baudelaire

_Violet lifted her pen from the paper, which was already growing damp from the salty sea air. Folding it quickly up, Violet slipped it into her pocket, reminding herself to have it delivered later. With a sigh, she stood up, walked to the edge of the cave and stared out over the sea, watching as a seagull which had been sitting on the water spread its wings and flapped up towards the cliff face, away from the increasingly choppy waters which were lapping hungrily at the bottom of the cliffs. With one last glance around the cave, Violet began to edge her way on to the narrow path which would lead her back to the shepherds who were waiting patiently with their flock of sheep. As she jammed the whisk firmly into the rock and gave it a sharp tug to make certain that it was secure, Violet happened to glance down at the ground, and she saw something that made her heart hammer in her chest. Lying beside her left boot was a small bundle of flowers. They must have been there for a couple of days, as they were beginning to wilt, but they had kept their dark purple hue and the distinctive shape of their petals. Lying beside Violet's boot, bound in a short length of string, was a bunch of violets, their petals trembling lightly in the breeze. _

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There we are. Did you like it? :)

Tabs ~_  
_


	6. QQ to VB 4

_Hello again! :) Next chapter is HERE! :D_

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My Darling Violet,

Every review that I have read of your performance has been filled with praise, and with how they wish that you would appear in more than one performance. More importantly, however, I have heard that you were able to invent a brilliant system for recording the important conversations held in the audience, and how we now have all the information we need before we begin to reconstruct the Hotel D – but I digress. Violet, everyone, even those outside our organisation (and sometimes I cannot help but feel that everyone on Earth is involved with V.F.D in some way), has been talking of your success in inventing. I am so very proud of you – and I cannot wait to see the 'Automatic Library Organiser' Klaus has been raving about, and Sunny has been telling me very interesting things about you creating a more efficient method for her to collect her cooking utensils in the kitchen. It seems we are beginning to make our own ways in the world at last, with you so successful in your inventing, Klaus compiling important research every day, Sunny becoming quite an important chef with an endless supply of good recipes, Duncan already a reporter in a newspaper of good quality, Isadora publishing poems by the dozen and of course I have had surprising success with my cartography, after such a dismal start to my career. It seems V.F.D has found uses for all of us, though we never realised it.

Even with all the good fortune suddenly being bestowed upon us, I cannot help but miss you. Without you, I can't help but feel that the world is not just quiet, but a deadly silent. I find myself exhausted when you aren't with me – though to be fair I have been consuming far too much coffee of late, have been reading until all hours and have been helping out at the library in the mornings, leaving me with little rest and sore thumbs from flicking through so many pages. Isadora can tell that I miss you – she keeps telling me that I will make myself sick thinking about you so much, but I can't help it Violet. Without you around, nothing makes sense, and my life seems to turn to ruin. I never want to be away from you again, Violet, except when one or both of us is occupied in some way, and so we cannot spend time together.

I know you come home in a few days. When you get back on Friday, meet me by our usual spot for ice-creams. From there we can purchase our favourite flavours, before strolling towards the park closest to Mulctuary Money Management. I would like to ask you something which I have been meaning to ask for weeks, but which I do not wish to write in a letter – particularly a letter delivered by our usual postman, who has an unfortunate habit of reading our personal correspondence. I miss you dearly, and await your return with baited breath.

Quigley Quagmire

_Quigley heaved a long sigh, leaning back in his chair and running his hands through his hair. Prompted by an ominous creak from his chair, he let it fall back on to all four legs, simultaneously reaching out towards a map that lay unfolded upon his desk. The map was a complicated tangle of lines and squares, detailing every park, district, street, underground passageway and phone booth in the city. Right on the very edge of the map was a small square simply labelled TT – it was the theatre in which Violet had been performing. Quigley touched it with his finger, wondering if Violet had left yet. If she had, he had no idea where she was now._

_Slowly, he set down the map and reached his hand into his trouser pocket, his fingers closing on a small velvet-covered box. He withdrew the box, and eased open the lid, staring down at the intricately detailed golden ring nestled in the silk lining. In the centre of the ring was a single oval sapphire, gleaming dark blue in the fading light._

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_Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, please review. :)_

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	7. VB to QQ 4

_Here is the next chapter! :) Thanks to all my reviewers, it means so much to me that you take the time to comment on my story. :) _

_Ooh! Who else is desperately excited about Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 2? AAAHHH! I'm hopefully going on Sunday, because we're driving down to Cornwall tomorrow, so we spent today preparing for that, and though I want to go as soon as we arrive, my parents will be too tired ... But, anyway! And I'm dressing up as Hermione, which will be so cool. :D _

_Oh, and I'm taking my laptop, so as long as we have internet connection down there, I'll be able to update while I'm there. If not, I'm afraid I can't post anything more for three weeks. :(_

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Dear Sir,

I am writing to address the subject about which we have previously conversed. I'm currently sitting at the back of a large and fairly dusty classroom, trying not to type too loudly on my typewriter or sigh too much at the sheer incompetence of the instructor. I'm not strictly a student in this lesson (incidentally, this lesson is Business Letter Writing Class – what a boring subject!), but I am spending some time at the V.F.D headquarters in order to gain some much needed information about a certain plant which often thrives in the ashen remains of a forest fire, and when I said I needed to write a letter, I was told to sit in on this class for a while and write my letter as if you were a business colleague – I believe it is so that my letter can be delivered along with twenty or so other letters and will not be noticed by our enemies, or by any particularly nosy person who has nothing better to do with themselves other than read other people's letters. However, the instructor of this class is so dim-witted that I doubt he will read anything more than the first sentence of every paragraph. I could say anything in here. For instance: the word 'xenial' refers to the giving of gifts to a stranger. I learnt that from you, Quigley.

After much thought, I have decided to reveal the following piece of news to you. I was the person who knocked on your door last night, just after seven o'clock. I know you were there, I know you heard me, because I had previously been watching you in the library, and I followed you all the way back to your apartment. While you were in the library, you did nothing but stand for a long time staring at a page in a copy of 'The Waste Land' by T.S. Eliot, before browsing through a book of wild-flowers. Afterwards, you walked to the park, and sat underneath a silver birch tree, and I must say you looked very forlorn indeed. It was the very tree where you gave me the ring which still glistens upon my finger, a small reminder of happier days. Did you remember that, Quigley? Was that why you were sad? After you left the tree, you walked for a while among some buddleias before glancing at your watch and sprinting out of the park towards the fish district, where you just managed to catch a bus, while I hailed a taxi and persuaded the driver to follow you along several streets until we came to your dreary apartment. I managed to pick the lock on the front door of your apartment building in a matter of seconds, and I saw you slam your own door shut just moments before I reached it. Why didn't you answer me when I knocked on your door, Quigley? Why won't you answer any of my letters? I have so many questions for you, but more importantly, I miss you.

I hope you find this explanation to your satisfaction and that you will consider my questions carefully. Please Quigley, please answer me. Just one letter, that is all I ask of you. One letter might change my life. Maybe I don't know you any more Quigley. Maybe you are a different man to the one who disappeared from my life three years ago. All I know is that the man I knew, the man I trusted with my life, would never have ignored me like this without the best of reasons. All I know is that without the Quigley I knew, I am lost. So please, please answer me, and help me to find the truth about a story that began when you vanished without a trace.

Yours in business,

Violet Baudelaire

_Violet felt a lump rising in her throat and forced herself to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. Pulling her letter from the typewriter, she scanned it once over before standing up and walking to the front of the classroom to hand it in to the flat-footed man who stood wheezing beside the blackboard. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Violet left the classroom and leaned against the wall in the corridor. Closing her eyes, she felt a tremor run through her shoulders as she collapsed into tears. _

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_There! Did you like it? Please review! :)_

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	8. QQ to VB 5

_Hello, hello, hello. Long time no see! Or ... whatever. Sorry, I got back from holiday a while ago, but my life has been kind of hectic since then. Or that's my excuse. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, you're so kind! :) Em - I promise to write you a very lengthy PM as soon as possible. :) _

_So, on with the letter!_

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My dearest darling,

Last night I received two letters. One was from you, and as I'm sure you are aware, it contained thirteen questions, and after that, three words. These three words make my heart both ache with joy, and also pound in agony, for the other letter which I received bore no message of affection. The second letter was a warning – a warning for me. I can hardly bear to think of it, even now that the last page is just a small pile of cold ash in my fireplace, and the string which tied it to the leg of the postman who brought it to me is now holding my chair from falling apart, and the sock of said postman is now hopefully being washed somewhere far away from my small and highly unfashionable apartment. I could not think for several hours of how I could ever tell you – of what on earth I could do. At last however, my thoughts are clear. Firstly, Violet, dearest, please do not despair. The ring (don't be alarmed, I want you to keep it forever, so worry not: I love you). A symbol - reminder - of our love, I hope. When you think of me, months from now, you must remember that day in the park. I promised not to leave you ever again, and I intend to keep that promise at all costs. Even if I am gone for years at once, I will never stop caring for you, Violet Baudelaire. If our luck does not last, remember: no matter which of our enemies gets in our way, we will persevere – we always have. Are you certain, by the way that someone dangerous hasn't been following your actions? These are dark times. I feel both of us should be careful. We must remember to hide when necessary; please don't ever leave your hotel room without being sure to wait for any signs of suspicious doormen lurking around the elevators. For now, at least, you must be discreet when you meet me. Ring first, then again in case it wasn't me who picked up the phone the first time. Always take the stairs, and never, never, eat at The Anxious Clown restaurant without a very good reason – this, I'm sure, you won't have trouble doing.

In closing, I will attempt to answer the questions you sent me last night.

Question One: Yes, it was me.

Question Two: As clear as day. I could never forget that afternoon.

Question Three: Never in my life.

Question Four: No, I never knew the exact origins of that particular ukulele, although I do remember you using its strings in your invention, and I do remember offering you the fake nails that Count Olaf wore when pretending to be 'Shirley'. Studies have led me to believe that it was carved from the wood of trees in the Finite Forest.

Question Five: We never knew although my siblings and I have often debated the matter.

Question Six: 'The study of joining or fusing.'

Question Seven: 'The giving of gifts to a stranger', just like I said so long ago, in the Mortmain Mountains.

Question Eight: 'A literary style in which the weather reflects a character's emotions.'

Question Nine: Of course I will always love you, no matter what comes our way. We have crossed the heavens and oceans in the search for nobility, and in the fond hope that we might one day be reunited, though all seemed lost. If our love can endure that, it can endure anything, and that's enough for me.

Question Ten: Maybe. I cannot recall.

Question Eleven: I'm not bad. I hear from Klaus you'll need all the help you can get – didn't you succeed in burning your toast to a cinder once? Of course I'll help, though maybe we could just employ Sunny to cook our meals!

Question Twelve: Two brothers, one left alive.

Question Thirteen: I'm afraid I really don't know … maybe you could ask Duncan?

I miss you, Violet. Hopefully I will see you before long.

Quigley Quagmire

_Quigley stared for several moments at the page of type he had just written. Then, as if following orders, he pulled it from his typewriter, folded into an envelope and attached it to the leg of a pigeon who stood waiting patiently on the windowsill. _

_'You know where to take it,' said Quigley quietly, stroking the bird's feathers before gently nudging her towards the window, 'Go on, then.'_

_With a flutter of wings, the pigeon took off. _

_Quigley closed his eyes briefly, praying Violet would find his hidden message, then he turned around and flung open his wardrobe doors. He had better start packing. _

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_The question is ... did you find the secret message? It's written in Sebald code. That's all I'm saying, until I reveal it in the next chapter's notes. :) Ooh! I have a copy of The Bad Beginning: Rare Edition! So awesome. :D_

_Anyone else get in early to Pottermore, by the way? Can't wait for my welcome email! _

_Tabs ~_

_P.S If you worked out the secret message, please tell me in a lovely review. ;)  
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	9. VB to QQ 5

_Hi! Sorry it's been so long ... anyway ... _

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Dear Sir,

I believe that you are in your office – at least, I certainly hope that you are, because I can hear someone moving around down there, and I would hate to think who it might otherwise be. If it is you, then all you need do to contact me is walk out of your door, head up one flight of stairs and knock on the door of room 13B. I would open the door and we would, perhaps, be reunited. Somehow though I don't think that's going to happen, because I have been trying to contact you for months, and still you haven't replied. I don't want to force you back into our lives. I just want one letter, one note of recognition, one page of explanation as to why you left: because I know there's a reason, Quigley. There has to be a reason.

Klaus and Sunny are worried about me. They say I'm spending too much time tracing you, that I've forgotten who I am in my search for the boy who I lost three years ago. It hurts me to see them like this, but I can't stop looking for you, no more than the cab driver in the street below could avoid crashing his cab through those hedges in pursuit of an ice-cream truck more than ten years ago. You, however, could stop their pain, and my pain too. If you would only write, Quigley, all would be well. At one word from you, I would turn away and go back to my life. I would still be distraught. I would always love you. I would never take your ring from my finger and I would spend hours dreaming of happier days. But just one word from you and I would stop writing you these letters and never track you down again.

If you won't write for my sake, write for the sake of your siblings. They have missed you every day since you left. Duncan and Isadora were broken when they first lost you all those years ago; loosing you a second time was almost too much for them. Every time I see them again, their eyes light up and they ask if I have any news from you. They were so happy to learn you were alive, and in the city again. Now, however, they seem hurt and distressed that you refuse to contact them. Why won't you talk to them, Quigley? Why won't you talk to any of us, answer any of my letters?

I don't know how many more ways I can plead with you to answer me. In a few moments, once I've finished typing out this letter, I'm going to roll this piece of paper up, tie some string around it and lower it out of my window. I know that you always keep your window open in the afternoon, so it shouldn't be too hard to swing it through your window; I have a pebble which I will use to weight it down, and my string is easily long enough.

Once you have untied and read the letter, you need only pull on the string three times, and I will come down and knock on your door. Alternatively, you can come up and knock on my door, and dispense with pulling the string at all. It's up to you. Please, Quigley, take the string in your hand and give a young woman the most precious gift she will ever receive.

Violet Baudelaire

_Violet lost no time in getting her letter to Quigley. As soon as she had swung her letter through his window, she heard all sound below her stop, before she felt the letter being removed from the string. Then there was a long pause. Violet sat there for hours, praying that Quigley would pull the string, or even that she would hear his knock upong her door. Eventually, she fell asleep at the windowsill, her hand still curled around the string, only to wake several hours later in exactly the same position. With a single sigh, Violet let the string drop from her hand into the darkness outside her window. If V.F.D was watching, they had recieved her message. Quigley wasn't replying tonight. _

_If Violet could have seen the string, however, she might have felt more hopeful. The other end remained inside Quigley's office, and after a moment of stillness, whoever was inside pulled it in through the window. It was almost as if the person in the office just wanted to feel the warmth of Violet's hand, still present in the string._

* * *

_There we are! :( Will they ever have a happy ending? Who knows ... Anyway, here's the secret message Quigley left in his last letter:_

Don't worry I must leave at once our enemies are following us please wait for me.

Duh-duh-duh-DUHHHH!

;)

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	10. QQ to VB 6

_Yay I'm updating fast for once! The end of this story is in sight! I've written the next two chapters after this one, and there are only three chapters let in all, unless I do an epilogue as well ..._

* * *

DEAR MISS. BAUDELAIRE,

I CAN ONLY HOPE THAT THIS TELEGRAM WILL REACH YOU, AS I HAVE NO WAY OF KNOWING WHETHER OR NOT THE WIRES BETWEEN THIS TELEGRAM DEVICE AND THE ONE WHICH YOU OUGHT TO RECEIVE THIS FROM ARE STILL UNBROKEN STOP SO MANY WIRES HAVE BEEN SABOTAGED THAT I HARDLY DARE SEND THIS MESSAGE BY TELEGRAM - - I WOULD ALMOST PREFER TO REVERT TO CARRIER PIGEON, EXCEPT THAT ALL THE CARRIER PIGEONS FLEW AWAY FROM THE FIRE LONG AGO AND ARE NOW GROWING FAT ON SEED FED TO THEM BY CERTAIN WANDERING MONKS STOP

I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE ALVE AND WELL, AND YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY KNOW HOW HAPPY THIS MAKES ME STOP I AM TAKING A GREAT RISK IN WRITING TO YOU AFTER SO LONG, BUT I HAD TO GIVE YOU A MESSAGE STOP I ONLY HOPE THAT THIS TELEGRAM DEVICE IS NOT SABOTAGED, OR DOES NOT BREAK DOWN BEFORE I CAN TYPE OUT MY MESSAGE TO YOU STOP

THE MESSAGE IS AS FOLLOWS:

MEET ME – – –

_Quigley stared down at the faded telegram, a dull shock spreading through him. All around him was quiet; he stood amid the ruins of a building, his boots sunk deep in the inches of brick dust and ashes that lay in a thick coating over everything in sight. The telegram device was ancient and rusted, the wires all melted. _

_Quigley coughed and gave a slight sniff, but managed to hold back tears. He knew now. He knew why it had all gone wrong, why he had waited for hours, more than two years ago now, for the girl he loved to meet him in the lobby of a hotel she had visited just once before, and why she had never turned up. Quigley screwed the dusty telegram into a ball in his first and thrust it into his pocket, giving another sniff. _

_'She never received my message.' _

_His words were quiet, barely audible, but they seemed to break something inside Quigley._

_'Why does everything always go wrong? Why did it break? Why did this place burn down? WHY?'_

_The last word came out as something between a yell and a scream, his voice breaking half-way through._

_Coughing, stumbling, wiping his face as he went, Quigley Quagmire made his way out of the burnt-out building which held so much disappointment, and so many secrets. _

_He knew now what he had to do. He would reply to Violet, before it was too late. And this time, she would get his message._

* * *

_There ... it's alll getting tense! :D_

_See you soon,_

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	11. QQ to VB 1

_Here is a very short chapter for you all ... Thanks for the reviews, by the way. :)_

* * *

I'm sorry if you were startled, all those years ago. It's hardly surprising; you thought I was dead. By that afternoon, I cared about you more deeply than I could have imagined. I hope you felt the same way about me. Now, we finally have the chance to talk again. If you would like to meet me, I will be waiting by the seventh serpent -shaped hedge at nine o'clock this evening.

Yours,

Quigley Quagmire

_Violet stared down at the note he had written her so long ago. She had kept it all this time, folded neatly and sewn into the lining of her coat. It was not the first time in recent months she had unpicked her careful stitching to read his carefully-penned words. Reading them now, she knew what she had to do. She would write one last letter to Quigley – it would be short, and it would decide the rest of her life. _

* * *

_Again, Duh-duh-duh-DUH!_

_So, that's all for now ... Just two/maybe three chapters left!_

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	12. VB to QQ 6

_Here is the penultimate chapter ..._

* * *

I'm sorry to be writing yet another letter to you; if you really don't want to speak to me, you must be quite tired of them by now. The waiter very kindly agreed to bring this to you along with your ice-cream. If you don't want to talk to me, simply rip it in half. I will be watching, and I will never contact you again. If you do want to talk to me, I'm sitting at the other end of the bar with my hat pulled down to hide my face.

VB

_Violet watched as the the waiter brought Quigley his ice-cream and her note. She watched as he unfolded and read it. She watched as he slowly looked up the bar, straight at her. She watched as he stood up and began moving towards her. Violet Baudelaire watched as the tables of her life turned, and she began to hope again._

* * *

_:D YAY! Do you like it? Just one chapter left everyone!_

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	13. QQ to KB 1

_This __is it. The last chapter. :D Thank you to all the wonderful reviewers, most particularly Em, because she's like my ff sister, and she hits her bed with her head, which is just hilarious. ;)_

* * *

To My Kind Friend,

As you may well know, it is never easy to return to a life that for years you have separated yourself from. One never knows if the people in your previous life will still care for you, or whether they will survey you like a piece of gum stuck to their shoe before smearing you out of their life again, just as they might smear the gum on to the ground. Once one has got past the daunting prospect of reunions, one's mind focuses on the equally, if not more daunting prospect of how to go about one's everyday life now that one has returned to the life they had before they left the life they had and started the life they had after the life they left. Naturally, you can see that for some time my life has been full of daunting prospects.

When I did finally return to the life I left behind me, I spent my days working to join my two separate lives together, so that my friends and family might better understand my reasons for leaving them all behind over three years ago, and for not returning until now, no matter how many times I looked back and wished that I had never left.

It took me a long time to think how I might go about doing this. I am a cartographer by trade, not a librarian or a reporter. It strikes me that had either you or Duncan been in my situation, you would have been able to come up with a solution much faster than I was able to; but you were and are not in my situation, and so can only read on in bemusement as I try to explain myself.

Finally, after many days of sitting at my desk, surrounded by screwed up sheets of paper which I had wasted time and effort on with hopeless scribblings, I came up with an answer. It was an answer which would not only provide the truth, but which would serve as a narrative of the many wearisome decisions I have made over several years, and also of the many gruelling ordeals a young woman has gone through in order to bring me back to the life I left behind, as previously mentioned.

The answer came to me when I was talking to your elder sister. We had talked a lot, since my return, as much as was possible, and I suddenly realised that I was not just telling my story, but hers as well, for she has been there every step of the way, searching for the truth and for me long before I ever realised that either of those things were lost. The more I pondered the situation, the more I came to realise that it was actually far more herstory than it was mine; Violet was from the first the one who fought hardest to bring me back to the life I had lost, the one who never lost sight of hope, even in the darkest of times. By the time I received the first of Violet's letters, I had long ago lost any hope. It was she who brought me slowly and steadily out of the darkness and back to the light, and she whose story most needs to be told.

So finally, I started work on the story of the truth. It had occurred to me that to give the complete story, I would need two sides to it, or else there would be much left unsaid and unexplained. This meant I needed two storytellers, and who better than the two people who have been most involved in this story from start to finish? So I started to gather Violet's letters together: the letters from Violet were easy to find, as I had kept each one of them with me: they were to me like a gift from beyond the grave. The letters to Violet posed more of a problem. Some Violet still had, such as the note she so touchingly sewed into her coat. Others, such as the telegram, she never received; it was my good luck no one had ever taken the telegram from where it lay, or this story would be incomplete; as it was, there were many letters I was simply unable to find, as they had been incorrectly delivered by the pigeons, or perhaps by our postman. Still others had simply been lost or stolen in the many years since they were written; I only managed to procure one of the earlier letters by swaping it for two gallons of goats' milk. Finally, however, I have collected enough of the letters we sent each other to complete this file.

Maybe not all questions have been answered, maybe some mysteries still remain. That is why the last letter of this file if to you. I hope to explain any small points which may trouble the inquisitive mind.

Firstly, Violet never knew why I left because she never learnt the Sebald code. Unaware of this as I was, I thought she would receive my letter and wait for me in peace. Thinking about it now, I doubt she would have waited anyway; she would have traced me and tried to bring me back; it is in her nature to keep fighting for those she loves to be united.

Secondly, I did try, just once, to contact Violet and arrange a meeting, so as to explain myself more clearly. I don't know who burned down that building and sabotaged the telegram device, or why they left the telegram lying there, incomplete but unharmed. I can only presume they sought to hurt me, when I finally found it, as they knew I would. Violet never received my message, and, not knowing this, I lost hope that we would ever speak again.

Thirdly, and finally, I never replied to Violet for two reasons. Foremost in my mind was the fear that it would not be safe to contact her – that our enemies would attack her or her family and friends. There was also a small doubt in my mind, when she sent her first few letters, as to whether it really was Violet Baudelaire who was contacting me. If she was writing now, why hadn't she met me where I asked her to in my telegram? That fear soon vanished, however, as she started signing her letters by hand, and even once wrote the entire letter by hand. After this, it was only the fear of danger to her that kept me back from seeing her. I wanted so desperately to reply: it was like torture to me. Finally, however, I know they are no longer tracking us; and even if they were, I now believe we will stand stronger if we are united.

My file is finally finished, and I can forget all about my time away from Isadora and Duncan, from you, Klaus, and from Sunny – and most of all from Violet. This is her story. Violet's story, and it is both to Violet and from her.

I ask just one favour of you, Klaus: that you keep this file safe in Dewey's library, so that its secrets may join the secrets of the world, and that everything may be a little clearer.

With all due respect,

Quigley Quagmire

P.S I have chosen to title this file 'The Violet Letters'.

_Quigley leant back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. It was early evening, and he was desperate to escape the stuffy confines of his office. Closing his eyes for a moment, he let himself relax: his work was finished. _

_Suddenly a crack like a gunshot rang through the silence: Quigley leapt to his feet and dashed to the window, yanking it upwards and looking down into the street below. It was completely deserted except for one lone figure, that of a young woman who was beaming at the window._

_'I never thought I'd have to be the one throwing pebbles, Quigley,' said Violet Baudelaire, 'now you'd better hurry up or they'll close before we get there.'_

_Quigley grinned and dashed to his door, not even bothering to shut the window or grab his coat on the way out. He ran down the seven flights of stairs pell-mell , and burst on to the street in tumble of madly working limbs. _

_Violet just had time to register with great surprise his sudden arrival before he swept towards her and his lips crashed on to hers, his arms enveloping her in a tight embrace. It was short, but the sort of kiss that burns white-hot and seems to linger on your lips for hours. When it was over, Violet smiled up at Qiugley._

_'So … are you ready to get that ice-cream?'_

_'Yes. I'm ready … and you know, my offer's still open, if you'll take it.'_

_'Offer?' Violet frowned slightly, evidently confused, 'What offer?'_

_Quigley took a deep breath and knelt to the ground. When he spoke, his voice was somewhat lower than normal, making him sound very serious._

_'Violet, you brought me back from the edge of despair. You followed my every movement in order to bring us all back together, and I cannot explain how grateful I am to you. There is no one I'd rather share my story with, no one whose life I want to be a part of more than yours. I've asked you this once before, and you said yes. Times have changed, but I hope your answer will have remained the same. Violet Baudelaire, will you consent to marrying me?'_

_Violet let out a small hiccough of laughter before she replied, her eyes wet with tears._

_'I only did what we all needed, Quigley. If … if you hadn't – if you hadn't,' Violet was crying in earnest now, struggling to speak, 'if you … hadn't come b-back, n-n-none of us – none of us could have – have – ' she broke off again, took several deep breaths, then said, 'It wouldn't b-be the same without you Quigley. I love you. Of – of course I'll – of course – '_

_Quigley stood up and wrapped her in his arms._

_'I'll take that as a yes, shall I?' he whispered to her, his hand stroking her hair rhythmically._

_'Y-ye-s,' hiccoughed Violet, half-laughing now._

_Quigley smiled, resting his forehead briefly on hers._

_'So, how about that ice-cream?'_

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_I hope you liked it, please review, I am so happy to have completed this! :D First multiple-chapter story I've actually completed! :D_

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